Moon Fever
by Strange Ink
Summary: Derek's band Moon Fever comes to Beacon Hills and plays the bar that Stiles' band usually performs at. So they go, of course, and the music is good and everyone on stage is too damn attractive to be legal. But they're not just a band (they're called Moon Fever, I mean c'mon) and they take an interest in making Scott one of their own. /Rating subject to change/ (Band!AU)
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** I haven't done a chapter fic in a long time (and I, uh, never finished the ones I started) but I am hoping to keep up with this one. Reviews are pretty good motivation for that (hint hint.) You can also find this story on AO3.

Plus I obviously don't own Teen Wolf and I feel stupid for even having to say that.

* * *

Stiles hadn't really wanted to go to the concert -dark brooding music wasn't really his thing seeing as he wasn't some reclusive vampire wannabe lamenting his existence- but seeing as his own band usually played at the same bar on Friday's where it was being held, it wasn't like he had much else to do. Plus, Allison wanted to go which meant Scott wanted to go and Stiles didn't much fancy spending his Friday night alone. And as much as he hated to admit it, outside of Allison and his band (which was only Scott and Lydia) he didn't actually have any other friends. Not anyone who he was comfortable spending an evening out with at least. Danny was still avoiding him since his insistent questioning about how attractive he thought Stiles was.

In all fairness, he figured he had the right to know. He had never considered himself strictly straight and he needed to know how he looked to the members of his own sex and Danny was his only gay friend. It wasn't like he was getting anywhere with the ladies and he wanted to keep his options open. Danny, unfortunately, had not been very sympathetic.

So here he was, sitting at a sticky table when he should have been on stage performing, or at least be at home playing Call of Duty with Scott. Their band, Charismatic Criminal, had been playing Friday night gigs at Chapman's for the past two months (ever since Scott had joined him and Lydia by turning 18 and therefore granting them access through the door even though they weren't allowed anywhere near the booze) for a small amount of pay and a crowd that usually didn't get above twenty people. So when Moon Fever wanted to play a show on what Stiles had come to think of as his stage, he couldn't really blame the owner for booting them off.

The crowd they had drawn was certainly more impressive and Stiles still didn't know how Allison had managed to snag them tickets and a booth. The place was filling up quick and the band wasn't even scheduled to come on for another half hour. He'd groaned quite a bit when Allison had dragged him and Scott away from their video game almost an hour early, but now he was grateful for it.

"I didn't realize there would be so many people," Scott said over the dull roar of conversation that had filled the small building.

"I told you they're from a few towns over, people love local bands that make it big," Allison said with a playful eye roll that was filled with more endearment for her boyfriend than exasperation. She looped her arm in Scott's, squeezing his hand affectionately. Stiles had to admit, the two of them were beyond adorable together, always holding hands and looking at each other with dopey puppy dog eyes. It was absolutely sickening, of course, but adorable. Stiles was happy for his best friend. Scott deserved someone that loved him so much and Stiles just hoped that his own Allison might make an appearance sometime soon.

"This is their first tour," the pretty brunette continued, "And I've heard that it's been going really well."

"If it's going so well then why are they playing here" Stiles asked, making a vague gesture around the bar and screwing up his face in confusion. "It's not exactly an A-class venue."

"We play here," Scott said defensively and Stiles bestowed upon him one of his grand eye rolls. The kind of eye roll that involved the use of his whole head and usually made his father put his head in his hand and sigh loudly. It was unspoken sarcasm at its best.

"I think that proves the point," said Lydia, sliding into the seat next to Stiles who moved over eagerly to make room for the stunning redhead who has been at the center of all his fantasies since they were eight. Lydia had been his first crush, was his only crush really, and the day she had agreed to join their band had been the happiest day of his life. She was a wicked bass player.

Scott furrowed his brow in a way that made him look more like a puppy than he already did, which was a feat that never ceased to amaze his best friend. "Am I the only one who thinks we're any good?"

Stiles picked up a fry from his plate and waved it in the other boy's direction. "No, we're _good_ Scottie, we just need a better place to play."

"Well," piped up Allison, who was now rubbing soothing circles into Scott's palm, "The reason Moon Fever is performing here is because this is where they got their start. Who knows, maybe you guys will be on tour this summer and on your way to stardom, too."

Scott pepped up at that and Stiles couldn't help but grin at their optimism. It was nice to know that their endless gigs at the bar might not be completely useless. Lydia didn't look convinced though, stirring the ice in her cup of water around with a straw.

"They got their _start_ here," she clarified, "as in, they eventually got gigs at other places. Which we haven't."

"Gee, thanks for the pep talk coach," Stiles retorted sarcastically. Lydia just shrugged and took a sip of her water, apparently unperturbed by her own observation on their complete mediocrity. Stiles couldn't really blame her; she had a lot to fall back on if the band didn't ever take off. Not only was she insanely pretty, but she was also ridiculously smart. Like, future rocket scientist, memorizes equations in her spare time, has the periodic table memorized kind of smart. She's already been accepted to half of the university's she'd applied to, including Yale and Brown.

When the band finally came on, the only way the group in the booth could tell was by the outburst of applause and hollering, the stage hidden from view by the crowd of bodies. Stiles had never seen Chapman's with so many people in it before -it looked like they were at capacity. He felt a brief pang of jealousy but squashed it down immediately. Someday they'd have a crowd like this, too. Hopefully.

"I can't see anything," Allison said, standing on her tip toes and trying to get a view of the band over the crowd. They could hear them fiddling with the instruments and doing mic checks.

"If we move we'll lose our seats," Stiles said, not keen on giving up the booth and losing their small safe haven within the mass of people.

Allison pouted and Scott caved. "Come on," he said. "We're here for the music anyways, we might as well get closer."

Stiles sighed but didn't bother to argue. Scott would do anything to put a smile on Allison's face and the idea of sitting alone in the booth (because Lydia was already getting up to go with them) wasn't appealing.

The second they were up and out of their seats the booth was snatched away by a group of cocky looking football players from the town over, identifiable by the jerseys they were wearing. Stiles only had a moment to mourn the loss before Lydia was dragging him after Scott and Allison who were already making their way through the press of bodies, pushing their way to the front. Allison was surprisingly aggressive in her attempts and Stiles was glad he wasn't in her way. Scott always likened her to a princess and Stiles was willing to agree as long as they were comparing her to Xena. The girl could be downright threatening.

Not that Lydia was much better, shoving people aside and then flashing them her signature smile when they turned to bitch at her, shutting them up simply by being gorgeous. It was insane really, how people thought guys were the more aggressive sex. In the company of these two, Stiles was practically a kitten. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't doing him any good in his dating life, or lack thereof.

They got the front, making a spot for themselves next to the stage that they were usually standing on, just as the guitarist strummed his instrument for the beginning of the song. The band consisted of the guitarist (and singer if the mic in front of him was anything to go by) who had these incredible cheekbones and a mop of dusty brown hair, a curvy blonde keyboardist dressed in a swath of lace and spiked boots, a muscular black guy with no hair and biceps that bulged out of his black t-shirt, and a dark haired, broody looking bassist with a jaw line that made Stiles practically weak at the knees. Seriously, the guy was gorgeous, and when he looked up, Stiles could see that his eyes were an intense green colour that made him catch his breath. Not to mention that body -even under the dark jeans and long sleeve shirt Stiles could see the muscle definition.

Okay, so maybe he was a little bit glad they had abandoned their seats for a closer view. Even if the music ended up totally sucking, at least there was some good eye candy.

"Hey everybody," said the guitarist, gripping the mic in his hand and looking out at the crowd with what could only be described as sex eyes. They hadn't even started playing yet and these guys were intense.

"We're Moon Fever, and we are so glad to be back in this little bar where we got our start. Enjoy the show!"

Stiles joined in with the applause, the crowd hollering and rushing forward as the first song started up. He suddenly found himself pressed between Scott and a stranger, trying desperately to hold his ground against the people behind him who were trying to push their way through.

The music was good, if not exactly the kind of thing Stiles would spend his time listening to in the car. It was dark and haunting, the vocals switching between the guitarist and the keyboardist, both who sang with husky voices like they had just rolled out of bed. The guitarist played and moved around the front of the stage so that Stiles found himself looking up into his junk on more than one occasion. It looked like it was probably pretty good junk.

But he was more interested in the dark-haired bassist who seemed to be lost in the music, barely acknowledging the crowd or his band mates at all. He never missed a note though, his well-practiced fingers moving gracefully over the strings.

They moved from one song to another and Stiles let his friends coerce him into a rhythmic kind of swaying, which was the only kind of dancing that could really be done to the music they were playing, especially in such a small space.

The guitarist seemed to have taken a special interest in their little group though and often smiled down at them, a mischievous quirk of lips, catching their eyes and singing a line or two. Stiles didn't think much of it was directed at him, but more likely Allison and Lydia. They were the pretty females in the group after all. Although when he caught him eyeing Scott appreciatively he rethought his theory. He'd have been insulted that he wasn't getting the same kind of attention (he was a good looking guy, why did no one ever eye sex him?) but he was paying more attention to the bassist.

The keyboardist was singing something about passion and the moon and all Stiles could think of was crawling between the sheets with tall dark and delicious. The way the muscles in his arms rippled as he played was downright pornographic.

As if he could feel Stiles' eyes on him, the said clearly-should-have-been-a-porn star bassist glanced up from his instrument, briefly scanning the audience. His gaze swept over their group and settled, just for a second, on Stiles. The intensity of his look was crushing and the younger boy felt something in his chest cave in. He had been attracted to plenty of guys before, usually a fleeting flutter of hormones before he settled his affections back on Lydia, but this guy had lit something in him.

Which was unfortunate, really, as he was clearly out of the young drummer's league and also looked like he could eat him alive without batting an eyelash. The thought was more appealing than it should have been and Stiles cursed under his breath.

They played for just over a half an hour and Stiles stayed with his friends for all of it, not even bothering to be discreet about eyeing Mr. Delectable. Every now and then the man would pick up his head and look around, his eyes moving over Stiles in a way that made him have to take deep breaths to steady himself. Which was stupid because honestly the guy probably wasn't aware of his existence at all, not really. It was hard to focus on individual audience members when you were on stage (and not in the front eye sexing people like this guitarist who really fucking wanted Scott's junk, goddamn) and Stiles couldn't imagine what it was like looking out on so many people.

When it was over there was a lot of cheering and calling out for an encore. The guitarist looked particularly pleased, blowing kisses to the crowd and grinning at them all while their crew came on stage and started packing up the instruments. Stiles watched the new star of his wet dreams hand his bass off to someone and move to talk to the keyboardist. The crowd thinned a bit and Stiles felt like he could breathe again.

"So," he said, nudging Scott with his elbow as they stepped away from the stage. "That guitarist seemed pretty into you." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Allison laughed, wrapping her arm around her boyfriend's waist, and Scott groaned. "That was so weird dude. So weird."

"At least he's attractive," Stiles continued, smiling wide, and Allison hummed an agreement against Scott's chest. Scott flicked his gaze from his best friend to the petite brunette wrapped around him.

"Aren't you suppose to defend my honour or something?" has asked indignantly.

Allison grinned. "I'm pretty sure your honour is intact. Well, maybe not after that thing we did in the back of my car yesterday."

Stiles clapped his hands over is ears. "That's enough of that!" he declared loudly, turning on his heel to make his way towards the bar for some water. He didn't _care_ that his friend was getting sexy times when he wasn't (that was a lie, he did, but he wasn't bitter about it), but he in no way wanted to hear about it.

"I know you're not over 21 Stilinski, don't even try it," said the bartender as he approached the counter.

Stiles waved his hand dismissively. "Relax Ronnie, I just want a water."

Ronnie narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously (people looked at Stiles like that a lot, he was used to it) but grabbed a cup and filled it with tap water and ice for him.

When Stiles turned back away from the bar to look for his friends, cup in hand, he immediately spotted Lydia only a few feet away, talking animatedly with Moon Fever's seductive looking blonde keyboardist. He pushed away from the bar and sauntered over to join them. When Lydia saw him she grabbed his arm and pulled him to her side and he wished he could wrap his arm around her waist, the way a boyfriend might, but he didn't. Lydia had made it clear she wasn't interested in him like that. Plus, she already had a boyfriend, one of Stiles and Scott's lacrosse teammates who was true royalty in the Kingdom of Conceited Assholes, Jackson Whittemore.

"Stiles, this is Erica, with the band."

He flashed the blonde a smile and shook the hand she offered. "Nice to meet you. You guys were awesome."

She grinned and her pouty red lips framed perfect white teeth. "I'm glad you liked it. Lydia tells me you guys have your own band?"

He nodded. "Yeah, actually, we usually play here on Fridays."

"Aw, so we took your spot. Sorry about that."

"Oh you guys are much better than us anyways," Lydia replied and Stiles shoved her lightly on the shoulder.

"Really Lydia, your confidence in us is overwhelming, think you could rein it in a bit? You're embarrassing me."

The eye roll she gave him was so impressive (almost on par with his own) that he couldn't even be upset about it. Erica laughed.

"I'm sure you guys are great. Everyone has to start somewhere, and this bar is as good as any. Although, I might be a little biased on that. What kind of music do you play?"

"Nothing like what you guys do," Stiles said. "Mostly indie rock kind of stuff."

"Very cool," she replied. "Most of us are into all sorts of different stuff. We play the dark stuff because it goes best with our talents. Oh hey! We're having a party back in our hotel suite, just a few people, you guys should totally come. Bring your band."

Lydia squeezed his arm in excitement. "We would love to! Doesn't that sound awesome Stiles?"

"Yeah, totally, that sounds great, we'd totally down for that."

Stiles let his mind slide back to the sexy bassist and his stupidly attractive face. He was definitely down for some more time staring at that sexiness. He didn't have a chance in hell at getting anywhere near him romantically, that much he knew. Guys like that weren't even on the same plane of existence as Stiles. But that didn't mean he couldn't get drunk and watch him from across a room before he went home to download pictures from the bands website to his computer. For, you know, _future_ _reference_.

"Excellent," said Erica, smiling wide. "I'll let the guys know. We're at that big hotel downtown. You can follow us there."

And with that she was off into the crowd again to hunt down her band mates while Stiles and Lydia exchanged grins. They'd been invited to an after party at the hotel suite of a famous band. Life was fucking good.

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Aaand, more to come soon. I hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**notes:** Oh look, chapter 2 is already here, how exciting! I looked this over a few times so hopefully there's not any horrible spelling/grammar mistakes. Let me know if you find any though so I can fix them.

* * *

The party had been Derek's idea, much to his band mates' surprise. He usually wasn't one for hanging out with drunk groupies in hotel rooms -it always led to someone vomiting on the floor, people fucking in the bathroom while others waited in the line for a piss, and an endless stream of girls (and guys) propositioning him for sex. It was the most uncomfortable way he could think of to spend his night.

But it was the only reasonable way the pack could scope out the handsome brunette that Isaac was so interested in before they had to be on the road again. Derek was picky about who he turned, and usually he wouldn't even entertain the idea, but Isaac had been insistent, his whole body thrumming with want for the boy. Derek had never seen him so worked up about someone before. So he'd caved.

Unfortunately, Erica had taken advantage of the situation and invited as many people from the bar as she could. Including the long limbed, wide eyed teenager whose gaze had been trained on Derek for most of the show and was now standing in their hotel suite amongst his friends, sipping something from a solo cup and grinning at a pretty red head by his side.

The music was loud enough that Derek couldn't hear what they were talking about, what was putting that smile on the boy's face, not even with his heightened werewolf senses. He wasn't sure why he cared.

It was frustrating.

Isaac was practically latched onto Scott, the human he was pining over, smiling and laughing, taking every chance he could get to touch the boy's arm or brush against him. He was like a puppy, vying for the boy's attention. From anyone else Derek would have been annoyed, but Isaac so rarely reached for anything. Sure, he was the lead singer of their band, often flirting with the fans and projecting an image of confidence and carelessness, but he wasn't anything like that off stage. Off stage, Isaac was nervous, eager to please, and often apologizing for things that weren't his fault. He tried to hide his brokenness behind sarcasm and indifference, but it clung to him like a second skin.

So Derek indulged him. The raging hormones and inevitable puking would be worth it if this guy could patch up some of the pieces that was Isaac Lahey's soul.

And it wasn't his guitarist's fault that Scott's best friend was apparently the wide-eyed boy whose face was too attractive to ever be okay and who also was not-so-sneakily peaking glances at Derek.

The alpha was used to the attention. He knew that other people found him attractive, but he'd never really _cared_ before. He didn't flirt with the fans and he had turned down more offers for sexual favours than he could count. He'd always considered his first obligation to be the pack, not his dick. Especially after the Kate debacle –Kate who hadn't taken their breakup well and had set fire to his garage. No one had gotten hurt, thankfully, but it had certainly put him off the idea of dating.

But this kid was exactly his type. Apparently. Because up until now Derek wasn't aware he even had a type. Fuck.

"Enjoying yourself?" Erica asked, leaning on the wall next to him, a smile on her face and a drink in hand.

"No," he said gruffly, "this was a bad idea."

"Pssht! It was a great idea," she replied, waving her empty hand in his face. She was tanked. She only ever used her hands to talk when she was drunk. Derek was actually impressed she had managed to get so intoxicated so quickly. Werewolves needed at least twice the amount of alcohol as humans did to even feel anything.

He grabbed her cup from her. It was vodka with a hint of Sprite. That certainly explained it. "You're drunk," he said, taking a sip from it, enjoying the warm burn of it down his throat. Maybe if he drank enough he could forget about Mr. Brown-Eyed-Wonder over there.

She batted at his arm. "Give that back, I'm fine."

He raised a brow at her and she responded by pouting, her bottom lip jutting out in a way that made her look adorable and sexy all at once. He sighed and handed the cup back over. Who was he to deny her a night of drunken debauchery?

She made a pleased humming noise and took another swig from the cup before grabbing his hand. "C'mon, you gotta meet this Scott kid, I think you'll like him."

"I don't-" he started, but it was too late, the blonde was hauling him after her as she worked through the crowd of people. The smell of alcohol and sweat assailed him and before he could filter it out and protest some more, they were standing amongst the group of Scott and his friends.

"Derek," Erica said, "this is Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Stiles."

Stiles. The kid's name was Stiles. What an _odd_ name.

He smiled at them in a way that was more a baring of teeth than anything else but it was the best he could manage. He looked them over, recognizing all but Jackson, a blonde boy who had his arm possessively slung over the petite redhead Lydia's shoulder, from the show.

"Scott was just telling us about their band," Isaac said enthusiastically.

Derek quirked a brow. "You guys have a band?" he asked, unable to stop himself. Dammit, he wasn't supposed to care. That was his thing. He was The Cold and Indifferent Derek Hale.

He grabbed Erica's drink again and took another swig before returning it to her.

"Oh it's just the three of them," Allison said, motioning to Scott, Lydia, and Stiles.

Stiles was a musician. Of course he was. The universe hated Derek, clearly, because there was nothing more attractive than someone who could understand his love of music.

"Are you any good?" he asked, trying to keep an air of cool disinterest.

Lydia shrugged. "We're alright, nothing like you guys though."

Scott let out a huff. "Seriously, does no one else have faith in our abilities but me?"

Stiles clapped him on the shoulder, shooting a friendly glare at Lydia. "We're good, I told you dude."

"You guys should play!" Erica declared suddenly. "You should totally play something for us!"

"R-right now?" Scott asked, eyeing the cup of whiskey and coke he was drinking from.

"Yes right now! We've got some instruments here, what do you guys play?"

It wasn't long before Erica had them set up in a corner of the room with the band's back up instruments -a beat up drum set missing the cymbals, a bass covered in band stickers, and a guitar that Isaac helped Scott tune.

Derek leaned against the wall opposite them, trying to pretend like he didn't care that a very attractive man was in his hotel suite and was about to play the drums. Because Stiles had plopped himself on the chair Boyd had pulled from hallway, a pair of sticks in his hand and a goofy grin on his face. The alpha had watched him down a gulp of Scott's drink ("liquid courage!" he'd exclaimed) and eye the drum set excitedly. Lydia had picked up the bass and Derek had to admit he was surprised. He'd assumed she was just a singer; she'd certainly seemed like enough of a diva. But Scott had taken the mic that Erica offered, adjusting it to the right height and grinning nervously at the crowd of people.

The party wasn't the biggest they'd ever thrown, but there was probably forty people altogether, of which about ten seemed to be paying attention to the band in the back, most too drunk to even realize what was going on.

They took a moment to confer, presumably debating on a song, and then Scott was strumming his guitar and Stiles started pounding out a steady beat on the drums and Lydia was actually a really good bassist. Their music was very different from Moon Fever, more upbeat -pop punk is the label Derek would have given it. Scott sings and he has just the right voice for it, melodic and just gravelly enough that it doesn't sound too boy-bandish. They're good. They're really good.

Derek finds his eyes glued to Stiles who has thrown himself into the song, banging his head and occasionally throwing his voice in for back up, words pouring from between his lips in a way that is entirely too sexual as far as Derek is concerned. He had a great voice. The kind of voice that belonged in a bedroom, that you wanted to hear muffled against your skin.

_Deep breaths Derek,_ he thought to himself. _He's just some kid, c'mon, get a hold of yourself._

When they finished there was broken up applause from around the room, Erica and Isaac the loudest, hooting and hollering. Derek brought his hands together a few times and was glad they had paid off the hotel staff. It had gotten loud.

"Another!" Erica demanded and Isaac let out a "yeah!" in agreement. Derek shook his head. The boy had it bad.

He let his gaze slide back to Stiles who was twirling the drumsticks between his fingers. His long, slender fingers. Who the fuck had hands like that?

Derek huffed, annoyed at how turned on he was and glad none of his pack was close enough to smell the arousal on him.

They started up another song, Scott letting out a growl that had Isaac standing at attention. Allison, who Derek assumed was Scott's girlfriend, gave him a knowing smirk, not at all looking miffed about him checking out her boyfriend. That had… potential.

His train of thought was lost though when he heard Stiles' voice again, low against the higher melody that Scott was now singing. The song was about some girl and a red ribbon; Derek wasn't really paying attention to the words so much as the sound of the drummer's voice. It was twisting his insides, vibrating down his spine. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide the sudden stiffening of his dick. He couldn't remember ever being so worked up without even being touched.

God, when did he become a teenager again? His hormones were taking a fucking joy ride and he could barely hold on.

He was grateful when the song was over and the band politely declined playing anymore, Scott swaying slightly, drunk on whiskey and music. Isaac was babbling about how great they were, his hand on the other boy's shoulder. Allison had fitted herself against her boyfriend and was grinning up at Isaac, Scott caught in the middle looking confused but happy.

He hoped Isaac knew he couldn't have both of them. Hell, he might not even be able to have Scott. Derek usually turned orphans, people who didn't have anyone to worry over them and could pick up and leave easily. But Scott didn't strike him as an orphan, and he had friends and a girlfriend. Attachments that would make him want to stay among humans. It made things complicated.

The werewolf was so wrapped up in his thoughts about Isaac and Scott that he hadn't even realized that Stiles had made his way across the room towards him, and before he could make any kind of smooth escape the boy was standing in front of him, cup in one hand as his fingers his long, beautiful fingers) raked through his hair.

Derek schooled expression, trying to keep his anxiety over the situation from showing. He would not be some hormonal mess in front of this kid. He was better than that. He was an alpha for fuck's sake.

"Were we terrible?" he asked, looking a bit sheepish, his cheeks red from the alcohol and, if his heartbeat was anything to go by, his nerves.

"No," Derek said with a brief shake of his head.

Stiles let out a little sigh of relief. "Thank god, I mean, we're usually better. At least I hope we are seeing as we usually play minus the booze. Scott was a little shaky on some of his lines I think."

He was babbling and he seemed to realize it when Derek lifted a brow at him, quickly snapping his mouth shut. Derek wondered if the word vomit was from the alcohol or if he was always like that. He had a feeling it was the latter.

"Well, uh, thanks for the invite. To the party. Where we're at," Stiles said, biting his lip and looking at Derek with a slightly pained expression. The werewolf kind of felt bad for the kid. It was obvious that he was nervous talking to him and Derek was, well... Derek. And just because watching Stiles catch his lip between his teeth had made his brain go fuzzy for a second with lust didn't mean he was going to be any nicer to him than he was the other groupies. He had an image to maintain. Or so he kept telling himself.

"You're welcome. Your friends are cool." Crap. Why did he say that? He hadn't meant to say anything.

Stiles gave a small, tentative grin. "Just my friends? I'm not cool? I mean I know I kind of talk a lot but..." He trailed off, seeming to realize that he was proving his own point. It was frustratingly adorable.

Derek warred with himself briefly on the correct response before he decided on a noncommittal shrug. His other option had been to grab the kid by the waist, shove him against a wall, and kiss him senseless. It had been a close call.

"Right," Stiles said, raking his hand through his hair again. Derek couldn't help but watch the movement. Those fingers were sin incarnate. The kid should be playing guitar, not the drums. He should be wrapping those slender digits around the werewolf's...

Derek bit his tongue to make the thought go away, focusing on the brief flash of pain instead.

"Well, I'm gonna just... go..." Stiles motioned vaguely in the direction of Scott and his friends, shuffling backwards a bit as if he thought Derek was a wild animal he had to slowly back away from so as not to agitate. He wouldn't be far off.

Derek watched him go, fisting his hands and then stretching them out, trying to get a handle on himself. Before, he'd been happy that Isaac had taken an interest in someone. Now he hoped Isaac decided he didn't want Scott so that they could leave and Derek would never have to see Stiles again.

And later when he came arching into his own palm, thought of long fingers and wide brown eyes bringing him to climax, he wasn't sure if that would be the worst or best thing that would ever happen to him.

* * *

**Things to look forward in coming chapters:** werewolf drama, tour buses, tattoos, make out sessions, drunken fun, and a threesome probably. So yeah, stick around for that.


	3. Chapter 3

**note:** This was a bit shorter than I wanted it to be but it seemed like a good place to stop. The next chapter will be back to Derek's pov. Thanks to everyone who has been reading, I love you guys.  
x

* * *

A week later Stiles was still not over his mortification of actually attempting to have a conversation with Derek Hale and Scott had become Moon Fever's number one fan. He bought their album and he and Allison listened to it constantly. He even had Isaac's number.

"Dude," Stiles said, looking up from his math homework to shoot a glare at Scott, whose phone had just vibrated across the table for the fifth time in two minutes. "Are you going to study at all or text your boyfriend all day?"

Scott grabbed the phone, a slight blush creeping up his neck as he attempted to scowl at his best friend. "He's not... I'm not even... we're just talking!"

The amount of denial in his voice was astounding. Stiles had known his friend could be obtuse, but this was impressive even for him.

"Oh please, you and Allison are completely gaga over this guy, it's pathetic." He tapped his pencil against his book a few times, scrunching up his nose. "And weird."

"He's a cool guy," Scott replied weakly.

"A cool guy who wants your junk."

Scott gaped at him. "Stiles, that's not, I'm not even... I don't even like guys."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Just because you don't doesn't mean he doesn't. And anyways, you could have fooled me. Have you even talked to Allison today, or are you so wrapped up in your new boy toy that you forgot you have a girlfriend?"

Scott continued his gaping and Stiles thought he looked a bit like the fish his dad had gotten him once. (It had died within a week as neither the Stilinski men could manage to remember to feed it.)

"I talked to her this morning," he said, playing with his phone like he wanted to check his still unread message but didn't want Stiles to make fun of him for it.

"Oh just look at it already."

Scott had slid the phone open and was typing out a reply text before Stiles even had time to roll his eyes again.

"Isaac says he'll be at the bar tonight to watch us play," Scott said after he finished sending his message and Stiles could see that he was forcing down a grin.

"Well hopefully he doesn't think we suck when he's actually sober," Stiles said, liberally highlighting a passage in his textbook. They weren't supposed to write in the books, of course, but they were seniors this year and, well, Stiles really liked to highlight things.

"C'mon man, this is awesome, if it gets out that a member of Moon Fever likes our music, that could really get us a following."

Stiles chewed on the end of his highlighter, not wanting to admit that Scott was right but also not wanting to dismiss the possibility. They had half a year before they'd all be shipping off to college (Stiles and Scott were both attending a liberal arts school a few towns over) and starting as a member of semi-successful band was at the top of Stiles' social wish list. There was no way he wanted college to be a repeat of high school. He refused to be the dateless and uncool nerd that he'd been since he'd been old enough to embarrass himself in front of every girl in his grade by using the wrong bathroom. He'd been eight but he'd never been able to live it down. Not that he was anywhere near the bottom of the totem pole like he used to be. Lydia Martin joining your band can do wonders for your image. But he was about ready to leave behind his awkward-sheriff's-son image.

"Is it just going to be Isaac or is the rest of the band coming?" Stiles asked finally.

Now Scott did grin. "Why, want to know if Derek is going to be there? Need to know if you should wear your tight jeans or not?"

It was Stiles' turn to gape at his friend. "I... what? It was just a question!"

"Yeah right, I've seen your internet history."

"Dude! Not cool. A man's internet history is a private matter."

Scott just continued his stupid grinning, which wasn't fair because he looked like a damn puppy when he did that and couldn't he at least have the decency to pretend to be ashamed?

"Whatever, you've still viewed his Wikipedia page about a hundred times since last Friday."

"Am I not allowed to admire the sheer beauty that is Derek Hale? It's not my fault he is clearly an angel walking on Earth, how else do you explain those perfect teeth and tight ass?"

"You have got it bad."

Stiles threw the highlighter at him. "You're one to talk."

Derek wasn't at the show. Stiles knew he should have been relieved, especially since he'd made an idiot out of himself the last time he saw the guy, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. A sinking feeling that was only made worse by the fact that the rest of Moon Fever had shown up, sitting at a table close to the stage and throwing them thumbs up and words of encouragement while they set up their equipment. Allison and Jackson had slid into the seats next to them and for once it looked like Charismatic Criminal actually had a fan base, albeit a small one.

Stiles tried not to let the fact that Derek wasn't there bother him. They'd just finished up their tour two days ago. It was impressive that any of them had come. Although he got the feeling that Isaac would have left mid-concert to come watch Scott play. But Derek probably had a lot of other stuff to do.

Or he didn't want to see him. _Them_. The band. He didn't want to see the band.

_But he said we were good..._

Stiles took the liberty of knocking himself in the head with his own drumstick. He was being ridiculous.

Lydia arched a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him he just shrugged and grinned at her. He was not going to let thoughts of Derek Hale distract him from putting on a perfectly good show. Who cares if he didn't like their music? They were good, and the rest of Moon Fever was there, so he really had nothing to complain about. They would play, they would rock, and maybe even a few people would like their Facebook page.

They started out with a song that Scott had written for Allison, a kind of mushy declaration of love mixed with a fair amount of growling that even Stiles had to admit was a bit of a turn on. And he was not attracted to Scott in that way, like, at all. Not even a little bit. It was hard to be sexually attracted to someone you'd seen piss in a sandbox when you were four.

The loud clapping and cheering from their friends seemed to attract the attention of several other bar patrons and for once Stiles felt like they had a real audience. Who fucking cared if Derek Hale with his perfect jaw line and dark hair wasn't there? He was on top of the world.

It became a weekly thing. Charismatic Criminal played their usual half hour gig and Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Allison, and Jackson always grabbed a table close to the front to sing along and applaud them. As a result more people started to show up for their shows, most just to see if they could get autographs from the Moon Fever members, but they stayed to listen even after they'd gotten their coveted pieces of signed paper back. Derek never showed up but Stiles tried not to think about it. He was over him. There were plenty of other outrageously hot men in the sea.

Which was what he was telling himself while he flipped through the Moon Fever photo gallery on their site and stared longingly at the asshole bassist and his, well, ass.

It was during one of his Derek-stalking sessions (even he was having a hard time calling them anything else) when Scott called, the sound of Blink 182's "Dick Lips" coming from his phone as it vibrated across the desk. He closed the Moon Fever tab instinctively, as if Scott would know what he was doing through the phone, and then answered.

"Hey man-" he started but he was immediately cut off by Scott's loud babbling.

"Dude, DUDE! You will never believe this!"

Stiles held the phone from his ear to save his hearing from his friend's screaming.

"Wha-"

"MOON FEVER WANTS US TO GO ON TOUR WITH THEM!"

Even holding the phone away from his head his ears still rang. He cursed Scott's volume until the words he'd said actually sank in. Moon Fever... tour...

"WHAT!? YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING WITH ME SCOTT MCCALL I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE DICK IF YOU ARE."

"I AM NOT FUCKING WITH YOU ISAAC ASKED AND HAD IT ARRANGED AND WE CAN TOTALLY JOIN THEM FOR THEIR SUMMER TOUR THIS YEAR."

"HOLY FUCK!" Stiles flailed so hard in his desk chair that it spun suddenly and dumped him onto the floor with a loud thump. "I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING!"

Scott was still screaming in his ear when the bedroom door swung open, the Sheriff looking alarmed on the other side of it.

"What in the hell is going on up here?"

Stiles whipped around, wide-eyed, to look at his father who in turn was looking down at his son as if he wasn't actually sure he wanted to know the answer to the question.

"Moon Fever wants our band to tour with them!" he cried, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst from his chest.

His father raised his brows in a mix of confusion and shock. "I-"

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT A BIG DEAL THIS IS?" Stiles cried, interrupting whatever he had been about to say, Scott rallying behind him though the phone with yells of "Yeah!" and "This is the best thing that has ever happened to me!"

The sheriff scrubbed his hand over his face, looking at his son through his fingers. "We'll talk about this at dinner."

Stiles just waved his hand at him, still sitting in a pile on the floor while listening to Scott who was now going on about tour dates and getting a bus, and "We'll be playing on a real stage with a real audience holy fuck!"

"Dude I'm coming over, have you called Lydia yet?"

"Yeah, she's with me, we're in the garage."

"Be there in five."


	4. Chapter 4

Derek had been lying on his face, sprawled out on his couch, when Isaac made the phone call to Scott. He hadn't wanted to agree to let Charismatic Criminal go on tour with them. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Stiles (his long fingers, his bright eyes, the moles that speckled his skin as if they were just waiting to be licked) and the idea of spending three months in close quarters with him was agonizing. He hadn't been able to get off to anything other than images of Stiles' perfect lips around him in weeks. It was enough to make him want to bang his head against a wall. Or smother himself with one of the decorative throw pillows Erica had insisted he needed. At least if he killed himself with it the damn thing would finally have a use.

The thing was, Charismatic Criminal was a good band. They had a more upbeat quality that would balance out the dark, haunting quality of Moon Fever's music, and Derek actually loved their stuff. He hadn't gone to any of the shows (he wasn't a complete masochist) but he had listened to the demos on their Facebook page several (hundred) times.

He could only hope that their respective parents said no. They were still young enough that that could be an issue right?

Isaac was grinning ear to ear when he hung up the phone and as he turned that smile on the alpha, Derek felt instantly guilty for hoping that it wouldn't work out. Isaac almost never looked as happy as he did now. Derek was being selfish. He was a grown man; he should be able to get his hormones under control.

"Scott's going to tell the others and they'll let us know," Isaac said, flopping into the armchair next to the couch that Derek was currently attempting to become one with.

The alpha gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Ah, c'mon," Isaac said, "they're good, you know they are, they totally deserve this chance."

Derek turned so that he could look at his beta, one half of his face still smooshed into the pillow. "You know Scott's got friends and family. And a girlfriend. There's a good chance he won't want the bite."

Isaac bit his lip and looked at the floor for a few silent moments. "I know that," he said, his voice a little bit softer than before. "But I like him, and he's... I dunno, there's something about him. We're friends."

Derek didn't say anything, just watched the younger boy thoughtfully. Isaac started to fidget under the attention and Derek looked away.

"I'm glad you have a friend Isaac. Scott seems like a great guy. Even if he does have a girlfriend already."

Isaac let out a huff of laughter and when Derek sat up on the couch the beta was grinning. "Trust me, I'm very aware of the girlfriend status. But I don't think it's going to be a problem."

Derek raised a brow at that. He'd thought the girl –Allison– had been pretty flirty at the party but he had assumed it was just the booze. Apparently not.

"What does Scott think about that?"

Isaac shrugged. "Not sure, but I have the feeling he'd follow that girl to hell and back."

Derek wasn't sure if that made Scott admirable or incredibly stupid so he didn't say anything, instead running his hands through his already mussed up hair.

"Do you think they'll go on tour with us? Like actually get their shit together and get a bus and all that?"

"I think that if Lydia wants to there's probably not much anyone could do to stop it from happening."

"Is she that headstrong?"

"That girl has got just about everyone wrapped around her designer stilettos, her and Erica would get along well."

The thought of the two women joining forces was more than terrifying and Derek repressed a groan. He was sure this tour was going to kill him. How much worse could it get?

"And seriously," Isaac continued, "if Scott would follow Allison into hell, Stiles would lead the way for Lydia if she wanted to take a goddamn daytrip there."

Derek scowled against his will. Apparently that much worse.

"They're dating?" he asked against his better sensibilities.

"Nah, she's got some thing with that Jackson guy. Total douche."

That just made the alpha's head hurt more and he pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to quell what felt like the beginning of a headache. "I _do not_ want to deal with high school drama."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "You're being ridiculous. And besides, in a few weeks none of them will be in high school anymore anyways."

"You don't have to be in high school to have high school drama."

"I think you're just looking for things to complain about."

Derek grunted an incoherent reply to that and Isaac laughed again, launching himself up from the chair. "Erica says she's got the beginning of a new song in the works. Practice at six?"

The alpha just nodded his consent.

"Excellent, I'm off to see Scott then, see you later."

"You were just on the phone with Scott," Derek pointed out as Isaac moved towards the door of the loft they shared.

The beta just shrugged, grinned, and slipped out leaving Derek sitting on the couch and wondering what his life had become.

"You're going," Erica said, hands on her hips, her face stern. "They are going on tour with us in a few weeks and you should see them perform."

"I have seen them perform," Derek pointed out.

"On a stage. When we aren't all drunk off our asses," she retorted.

Derek huffed, wanting to argue but not able to come up with anything compelling. When Erica made up her mind there was no changing it anyways. She'd make a good alpha if anything ever happened to Derek. It was how he comforted himself when faced with her stubbornness, although he was hoping it would never come to that. Their pack tended to stay out of trouble, but touring made it difficult sometimes. Most other packs were understanding, but they'd definitely gotten into a few territorial scrapes.

"Good," Erica said, "I'm glad that's settled. Now go change so we can leave."

"What is wrong with my clothes?" he demanded, shooting a glare at where Isaac and Boyd were snickering on the beat up couch. They were in the small studio Derek had had built outside the loft a few years back. It was just big enough for their equipment and the sad excuse of a couch Isaac had found at Goodwill. Erica hated it, but seeing as she'd already had free reign decorating the tour bus, she left it alone.

"You worked out in those clothes," said the blonde, rolling her eyes.

"We're going to a bar, there's not exactly a dress code."

"No, but we are a semi-famous band with an image to maintain. And that image is not sweaty grunge." She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

Derek threw his hands up in defeat and turned towards the door, yanking it open onto the cool night.

"Wear that charcoal button up I got you, it looks great with your eyes!" Erica called after him to which he just shut the door. He was _not_ wearing a button up.

An hour later Derek was sitting at the table closest to the stage (he should have known this would be their usual spot) squished between Isaac and Erica and not in the charcoal button up thank you very much. He'd just gone for a clean black tee and his leather jacket. Erica has given him a disapproving glare (looking stellar in a black slip dress and platform boots) to which he'd just responded with "it's a bar, these are bar clothes."

Besides, he wasn't an idiot, he knew he looked good. He didn't like the attention he got from a lot of fans because of his appearance, but that didn't mean he didn't know he was attractive. So Erica could suck it.

When the band came on stage Derek looked everywhere but at the all-too-enticing drummer. He could feel Stiles' eyes on him, but he refused to meet them, instead watching Lydia sling on her bass guitar. He had to admit, she pulled of the hot redhead rocker chick look well. She made ripped skinnies and a jean vest look like high fashion.

His band mates were chattering around him with Allison and Jackson, going on about the tour and music and how _excited _they all were. Erica nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

"We're so happy to hopefully have them with us, aren't we Der?"

He gave a small nod and a grunt that passed for affirmation. Erica narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything and Derek knew she was saving whatever she had to say for later. She had that look she gave him when she thought he was being an asshole and she wasn't happy about it. It was a common theme in their relationship if he was being honest.

"There's a lot to work out, a bus and all that," Allison said, "but I think you can definitely count on having them. None of their parents would deny them the opportunity."

"Not that it matters, they're all adults," Jackson piped up in a tone of voice that made Derek want to punch him.

There was a strum of a guitar from the stage and Derek redirected is attention, watching Scott who was grinning out at the bar, instrument in hand and a ridiculous green baseball hat sitting backwards on his head, containing his mop of brown hair.

"Good evening everyone, we are Charismatic Criminal and this is a song we like to call _Follow You_."

"AKA I love my girlfriend so much I make my friends want to puke," piped in Stiles from his spot behind the drum set, eliciting a laugh from the small crowd. Derek let his gaze flick to the back of the stage without even thinking. And then he was stuck, staring at the goofy and ridiculously attractive drummer, his hair sticking up every which way and clad in tight red t-shirt that made Derek's mouth go dry. He was grinning, gripping his drumsticks in his slender fingers and Derek was so not looking at his hands, no, absolutely not.

The song started and the alpha couldn't help but be entranced by Stiles' playing. He put his whole body into playing, just like he had at the party. He smiled and sometimes sang along (his voice twisting things in Derek's stomach that he didn't want to think about) and between him, Lydia, and Scott, the energy coming off of them was almost palpable. They had incredible stage presence.

When they finished their set Derek had downed three beers and had almost gotten up and left twice. They'd done a fucking Fall Out Boy cover. Derek _loved _Fall Out Boy. Not that he would admit to it. And once he had started watching Stiles he hadn't been able to stop, unable to stop his body from reacting. The last thing he wanted was for one of his pack members, god forbid _Erica_, find out about his, uh, problem. He'd never hear the end of it. They'd _interfere_. Just the thought of what they might do was terrifying.

For betas, they were pretty bad at following orders, something he took every opportunity to remind them of. They took those same opportunities to ignore him.

"I say we have another party!" Eric proclaimed, "now that everything in the loft is turned back on."

Derek raised a brow at her. "You can't just decide to have a party where I live."

"Isaac lives there too," she said, pointing to the doe-eyed beta who was grinning up at Scott while the band packed up their equipment. Derek continued to stare at her without saying anything.

She huffed. "Fine, you're such a killjoy. Why am I in a band with you again?"

"I believe the words you used once were _because of my underwear model physique and broody eyebrows_," he said dryly.

"Someone's full of himself," came a voice from the other side of the table and Derek tried to suppress a groan. It was Stiles. Of course it was Stiles.

Although, to be fair, Scott and Lydia were with him, pushing their way into seats. Lydia dropped gracefully into Jackson's lap who immediately started kissing her neck and jaw. Derek could not fathom why anyone would allow Jackson to touch them but he didn't say anything. He was too busy being distracted by Stiles' general existence.

"I was quoting," he said, schooling his tone and expression into nothing but cool indifference. He'd never had to work so hard at it before.

Stiles grinned and Derek gripped his beer bottle tighter.

"If Derek doesn't want to have the party at his place, we can always have it at mine," Boyd volunteered, tipping his chair back slightly and sweeping his gaze over their group. "My dad is out of town for the next few days and I've got a couple of bottles of booze stashed away."

Stiles' grin widened. "Excellent."

"I don't see what we're waiting around then for," Erica said, slamming her hand down on the table. "Let's go, I want a drink in my hand within the next half hour and to be dancing around drunkenly in celebration of our new tour companions before ten."

Derek followed them out the bar, migrating to his Camaro when they hit the parking lot, Isaac behind him.

"I'm going home, you're going to want to ride with Erica," he said, unlocking the doors.

Isaac pulled a face. "You really are no fun tonight, what's got your panties in a bunch?"

Derek just looked at him and the younger boy shrugged before sauntering away. "Have fun brooding by yourself," he called over his shoulder.

Derek grunted, knowing Isaac could still hear him, and got into his car.


	5. Chapter 5

**notes:** So this took way longer to update than I wanted it to and it's not as long as I wanted it to be, and I wish I had a good excuse for you guys but I don't. I just suck.

* * *

"Derek hates me."

Lydia rolled her eyes, shoving throw pillows into his arms, all in hues of purple and gold. He made a face at floral design stitched into one of the pillows but wasn't stupid enough to comment on it. They were shopping for the "tour bus" they had recently gotten, courtesy of Lydia's completely loaded parents. It was an old RV with an atrocious 70s looking interior that Lydia was determined to renovate before they left in two weeks.

"He doesn't know you well enough to hate you," she said, picking through the curtain display.

"Which makes it even worse. Am I that revolting of a person? You'd tell me if I was, wouldn't you?"

"Take this," she said, handing him a package of gauzy curtains.

"Lydiaaaaa," he whined. Even he couldn't call it anything other than whining. All he could think about was Derek fucking Hale and why the guy seemed to despise him so much and Lydia was seriously not helping with her perfect hair and complete indifference.

"You're being a child and I'm not answering stupid questions."

"You're supposed to be my friend and comfort me and tell me how wonderful I am and how lucky any guy would be to have me," Stiles pointed out, shooting her an insincere glare from over the mound of stuff in his arms.

"No, that's what Scott is for. So whine to him over your pizza and video games, or whatever it is the two of you do all the time."

"Actually we paint our nails and talk about guys."

"Well, I'd believe it of you anyways."

Stiles made a noise of protest but it was cut off as the redhead added another set of curtains to the rapidly growing pile of decor.

"Do we really need this many curtains?" he asked, poking his head around to look at her, only to find that she'd migrated further down the aisle. "Why do I even bother," he muttered.

"I heard that."

It was just his luck really that she turned around to look at him as he was silently mimicking her, his face scrunched up like a horse. She made him carry three more pillows as revenge and didn't even helped him pick everything up when he dropped it all over the dishware aisle.

"Scott McCall, _wha_t do you think you are doing?"

Scott turned to look sheepishly at Lydia and Stiles as they got out of the car. They'd pulled into Lydia's driveway where their newly acquired RV sat, Scott, Isaac, and Allison standing around it. Scott had just finished prying open a can of paint in a shade of yellow that reminded Stiles of a school bus.

"Painting the bus?" he said, his voice a question more than a statement. Allison had her hand pressed to her mouth to hide a smile and Isaac was grinning, unabashed.

Lydia quirked one of her perfect eyebrows in a manner that was truly frightening. "We are not driving around in something that looks like a banana."

Scott bit his lip in a way that probably would have made his adoring accomplices crack but had no effect on the strong willed redhead. "We can't leave it white," he said finally.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "We're not, I've already picked out a sleek black and am having someone come by tomorrow to do the job. Today we're going to be gutting and redoing the interior. I've got some excellent pillows."

Scott didn't look particularly excited about this plan and Stiles didn't blame him. He hadn't even seen the purple curtains yet.

Erica showed up not long after that, looking like she was ready to go clubbing in a pair of knee high heeled boots and a fitted dress that made it hard not to look at her boobs. Stiles was slightly terrified of the keyboardist to be honest (she was headstrong like Lydia was but he got the distinct sense that she might _actually_ eat him) but that didn't mean he didn't fully appreciate the fact that the universe had smiled down on her the day she was born. It seemed to be a common thread among the Moon Fever band members. Stiles was trying not to be spiteful about it.

Allison had assured him once that his messy hair and moles were cute which hadn't been all that comforting. Cute wasn't getting him laid by Derek Hale. It wasn't getting him laid at all. He _hated_ cute.

They started their redesigning of the RVs interior by almost completely gutting it, Erica proving to be particularly efficient at throwing the cheap furniture out onto the driveway to shatter into pieces, grinning all the while. If he hadn't been afraid of her before he certainly was now.

Lydia had them painting the walls inside an off-white colour to cover up the horrendous muted green that the previous owner had seriously dropped the ball on. Stiles would like to say that they had acted like the adults they were supposed to be growing into, painting quickly and efficiently, but the paint covering his clothes and streaked through his hair told a different story. They all looked a little ridiculous and Lydia was trying hard to look annoyed but failing, a grin pulling at her mouth and paint on her cheek.

It was a fun afternoon. They got pizza when they finished and then jumped into the pool in Lydia's back yard, laughing and joking the entire time. Stiles enjoyed himself and barely even thought about the broody bassist that had been plaguing his daydreams and wank sessions for weeks. Well, he may have gotten temporarily lost in a particularly vivid fantasy when Erica offhandedly commented on Derek's superb swimming ability, but he would (and did) deny it if anyone were to ask.

It was a few days later that Stiles and Scott found themselves back at Lydia's, staring at the newly painted RV. They had the can of yellow paint Scott had bought earlier in the week and another, smaller, can of purple. Lydia had given them permission to paint the logo on the outside as long as they didn't fuck with anything else. It was a miracle they weren't being supervised, Lydia having left for a study date with Jackson. The way she'd said "study" had led Stiles to believe that there was in fact no studying going on. He was trying not to think about it.

"How do you want to do the splatter part?" Scott asked, prying open the purple paint.

Stiles grinned, grabbing the bucket from him. "There's really only one acceptable answer to that Scottie." And with that he heaved the contents of the can onto the bus, watching delightedly as it arced through the air and hit the side with a splat.

When they were done, the logo was taking up most of one side of the RV, the words "Charismatic Criminal" scrawled over the splatter in yellow, the lines sharp and uneven.

"We still have some paint left, we could totally do our graduation caps," Scott suggested, dragging a purple hand down Stiles' already destroyed tee. He'd worn it specifically for the occasion though so he let Scott clean his hands on it, exacting revenge by swiping his paint brush, covered in yellow, across his face.

After a brief paint brush fight they piled into Stiles' jeep (cleaning it out later was going to be a pain and there would be some definite bitching if his dad found out, but it was worth it) and headed back to the McCall house to jazz up their graduation caps. They hadn't been told they were allowed to, but well, they weren't explicitly told they couldn't either, and Stiles was fond of taking creative liberty whenever possible. He'd been drawing on just about everything (himself included) from a young age, much to his parent's annoyance. He couldn't wait until he could start covering himself in tattoos. Maybe a piercing or two. His dad had never been wild about the idea of his son covering himself in body mods, but had agreed not to comment on anything he chose to get done after he graduated. In the mean time, the painted cap would have to do.

Isaac had informed them the day before that they, as in all of Moon Fever, planned to attend the band's graduation. With Derek.

Apparently Derek thought it would be a good idea to meet their parents before whisking them away on tour. It was very responsible of him. It shouldn't have made Stiles attracted to him even more than he already was. It totally did.

Family was important to Stiles. He'd lost his mother to frontotemporal dementia almost eight years ago and it had just been him and his dad ever since. He was actually anxious about leaving his dad on his own for the summer. One of the reasons he'd chosen a college so close to home was so that he could commute and not have to be away from him for months at a time.

The fact that Derek wanted to meet his dad, and all of their parents, to reassure them that they'd be fine was downright fucking endearing. Especially considering how much convincing it had taken to get his dad to realize that he wasn't going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere while on tour.

"I am a perfectly responsible adult," he'd said, waving his hands about.

His dad had just raised his eyebrows at him, arms crossed.

"Well I will be," he'd consented. "_If_ given the chance."

Eventually the sheriff had cracked. He was incapable of denying his son something he so desperately wanted. It also helped that Melissa McCall had given in a few days earlier after being thoroughly spoiled by Scott, who spent a week bringing her dinner, driving her places, and leaving her gifts around the house. The sheriff was more inclined to trust Stiles and Scott if Melissa trusted them. And she always trusted them because _Scott_ was her son and he was not nearly half the trouble maker that Stiles was. Plus, he had a puppy dog pout that an angry nun would crack under.

Now of course they were just waiting on Mr. Argent agreeing to let Allison come for the ride. She had volunteered to act as a co-manager (even designing some t-shirts and stickers for them to sell) with Lydia. Because only Lydia fucking Martin could be in charge of the band she played with. Her time management skills were the result of witchcraft as far as Stiles was concerned. Even with his adderall he had a hard time staying on task for longer than an hour.

And of course Jackson had already bullied his parents into allowing him to also go. God forbid he and Lydia be separated for any small amount of time. Stiles had tried to argue against it -Jackson served no purpose other than being the token douchebag of the group, and they didn't _really_ need one of those, did they? Surely that was a character trope they could do without in their epic summer tour story. But Lydia had stomped her heeled foot and crossed her arms and that had been the end of it.

Stiles wasn't looking forward to watching the two of them make out all summer in close quarters. At least he'd have Derek Hale up close and personal to look at on a regular basis. Derek Hale who was made of muscle and raw sex appeal, who played bass like a god and had the cheekbones of an angel. Derek Hale who didn't even _like_ him.

Well, at least he'd have Scott to hang out with anyways.

* * *

**more notes: **Okay, so not that long, I know, I'M SORRY. But the next few bits I want to be in Derek's POV so I cut it off and I am going to try really /really/ hard to get the next chapter up soon. And it will have Derek & Stiles interaction, I promise. It's just slow build. I have a lot of stuff I want to cover and I didn't want to rush it.  
Also, the rating for this fic might go up pretty soon? Just a fair warning.


	6. Chapter 6

**notes:** Sorry this took so long to update, I'm trash. Also, the rating on this fic went up, so be warned.

* * *

Derek stood in the back of the audience, leaning against a tree and far enough away from the graduation proceedings that if he was human he wouldn't be able to hear any of it. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had weaseled their way into actual seats and had tried to get Derek to join them but the alpha had promptly refused. He didn't really want to be here at all, but Stiles' dad was apparently the Beacon Hills sheriff and it seemed like a good idea to reassure the man that he wasn't stealing away a bunch of kids to corrupt and debauch. He did, after all, live in Beacon Hills, and despite his gruff appearance, tried to keep on the good side of the authorities. Sympathy with the police had gotten him pretty far, but it had been almost nine years now since the accident and that sympathy was about worn out.

He'd been able to spot Stiles and Scott pretty immediately, both having painted caps, both purple with yellow lettering. Scott came down the aisle first, a goofy grin on his face that made him look like an excited retriever, and the word "Charismatic" on his head. Stiles had come a little after him, also grinning ridiculously and the word "Criminal" scrawled on his cap. He shouldn't have looked attractive that way, smiling like an idiot in maroon robes, his face a bit red from the California heat. You weren't supposed to look good in graduation robes. It was a rule somewhere, he was certain. Not even Isaac had looked good in his robes last year, and Isaac looked good in everything.

Lydia was the class valedictorian and she hadn't painted her cap. She gave a speech about high school and moving forward, delivering it with confidence and a steady voice. She had a certain finesse for public speaking, as well as a love for using words that half of her peers probably didn't even know. It was a stark contrast to her stage presence, which was relaxed and a touch mysterious. Erica always called him mysterious when he performed. Maybe it was a bassist thing.

He didn't pay attention to much of the rest of the ceremony, only listening to when they called the names of the band, Allison, and Jackson. It didn't help that his pack whistled and cheered every time one of them was called up to receive their diploma. Derek couldn't help but smile at it all. He'd never gotten his degree, had dropped out after the accident. He had his GED of course, but part of him had always wondered what it would be like to graduate. Boyd had suggested once that he could go to college, get a degree in something. He'd thought about it, but music was the only thing he felt passionate about. It didn't seem worth the effort, even if he did occasionally crave being in the classroom again. He had always liked school, he just hadn't been able to deal with after... after everything that had happened.

It wasn't too long before the ceremony was coming to a close, Jimmy Eat World's "The Middle" blaring across the lacrosse field. It wasn't what Derek would have chosen but it was a lot better than the Rascal Flatt's song that Isaac's class had voted on. _That_ had been painful.

Eventually Derek had to push away from the tree and go to actually meet these kids' parents. How did he end up in this situation? He was only 24. He felt like a parent himself, meeting with moms and dads of the children his kids wanted to hang out with. His pack certainly felt like children. He grumbled about it to them constantly but he didn't actually hate it. He'd grown up in a big family and it was nice to have that back, even if it was just a bunch of punk teenagers he'd recruited.

Isaac spotted him first and waved him over to where he was standing amongst a fairly large group of people. His betas were mingling happily and he took a deep breath before going to join them. He could do this. It was worth it. It would make Isaac happy. It would make the whole pack happy. He wanted them to be happy.

Why couldn't they just want a puppy like normal children?

The whole exchange was awkward. Trying to maintain your air of cool while talking to parents of the band members who were going on tour with you because your beta had a crush on one of them (while you were harboring inappropriate thoughts for the drummer) was one of the hardest and most ridiculous things Derek had ever done.

It didn't help that he apparently knew the sheriff. He hadn't known he'd become the sheriff, wondered when that had happened. Neither man acknowledged that they knew each other, but it was there, in a silent exchange of glances. Sheriff Stilinski had been one of the officers on site after the accident. He'd gripped Derek's should, squeezed it in an attempt to comfort him and had gotten him a water, set him up with a place to stay that wasn't the foster system. Derek had been numb to everything at the time, but looking back he appreciated the kindness.

He was kind now, too, if a little apprehensive about letting his only son disappear for the summer to play in a band. Derek understood that though, trying to casually reassure him while avoiding making eye contact with Stiles who looked even better in his stupid robes up close. At first he had tried to insert himself into the conversation Derek and the sheriff were having, gesticulating with his hands so much that it was impossible not to get caught up staring at the long, slim fingers that should be illegal. Derek was grateful when Erica had distracted the younger boy by putting him in a playful headlock and teasing him about his apparent desire for a nipple ring (Derek was trying not to think about _that_), which Scott had let slip while trying to reassure his mom that he wouldn't pierce his face while he was gone.

Scott's mom ("call me Melissa, please, Ms. McCall makes me sound so old") ended up being fairly easy to talk to, and the similarities between her and Scott was astounding. They had a relaxed relationship, Scott slinging his arm affectionately over her shoulders while she told what should have been an embarrassing story about crayons and pudding to Isaac and Boyd. Scott just laughed though, completely unbothered by the anecdote. Apparently Isaac's dreamboat was a mama's boy. It actually endeared him to Derek quite a bit.

Lydia's parents had shook his hand awkwardly, swept their gazes over him and his pack, and dragged their daughter away to talk to the school principal about something or other. They definitely weren't thrilled with Lydia's life choice to go on tour as a part of a rock band, despite the fact that they had apparently provided the RV the group was using for a bus. Derek didn't doubt that the redhead had them wrapped around her finger just as well as she had everyone else.

The pack was invited over the McCall house for a barbeque to celebrate the graduation and Derek declined. The past twenty minutes of conversation had been strained enough on his part and he had no desire to go and spend the next few hours being tortured by the mere presence of Stiles.

Fucking _Stiles_.

He had to stop thinking about the kid. Had to get him out of his head, get over him, and he had to do it before the tour started. This... infatuation he was harboring was getting out of control. Derek didn't take an interest in people, especially not romantically, and he liked it that way. Dating had never gone well for him -he'd sworn it off for a reason, regardless of how many times Erica had tried to set him up.

Not that he hadn't had his fair share of one night stands. Sex was easy when you were in a band. Derek had no problem finding guys that were fine with a good fuck and then moving on with their lives.

Stiles wouldn't be that way. Stiles wouldn't be casual, wouldn't be without emotion. Stiles would wrap himself around Derek with his long limbs and cling, burrowing under his skin with his honey eyes and boisterous laugh. It made him dangerous, a poison that the wolf couldn't take the chance of accidentally swallowing.

And fucking hell, he was getting goddamn poetic over the kid. He could hear potential chords for a song about a boy with a pretty smile and a constellation of moles across his pale skin, something alluring and dark and mournful.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

Instead of going to the barbeque, Derek called his tattoo artist and booked and appointment for that evening. He wished he could go in immediately, but Tanya was booked until six so he resigned himself to hanging around the loft until then. He told himself that he would watch a movie, maybe read a book, make some food -not think about Stiles that was for damn sure.

Right.

He ended up naked on his back, sunk into the memory foam of his bed, pumping his cock while he worked his fingers in and out of himself, gasping at the sensation. He'd tried not to think about Stiles while he did it, tried to imagine a hot actor or maybe that guy he'd slept with a few weeks ago. He tried so hard. But all he saw behind his closed eyes was the drummer's sinful lips and long fingers and he was gone. And when he thought about what it might be like to have those fingers working him open instead of his own he came harder than he had in months.

He'd finally reached a decision on what tattoo to get next when he walked through the doors of the tattoo parlor. He had wanted to get started on a sleeve for awhile and he had just enough time to get the whole thing completed before they left for the tour, bless his werewolf healing powers for that. Plus, he was hoping the pain would distract him, take some of the edge off of his incessant Stiles-thoughts. Because although he had just fucked himself silly thinking about him, his mind was still wandering to thoughts of his mouth and hands. He'd had to force himself to make food and play video games instead of jack off again.

But the pain of having a needle stabbed into his skin over and over again was usually a good distraction for his brain. He and his betas only ever visited one parlor because it was the only one they'd found so far with a witch for a tattooist who was willing to lace the ink with wolfsbane to make it stick.

"Hey Tanya," he greeted, pushing open the door to the shop. The witch looked up from the front desk where she was sketching something, smiling warmly. She'd dyed her hair since the last time he'd seen her, now sporting a shock of pale blue curls that served as a stark contrast to her dark skin. It was almost the exact shade of her eyes. She told people she wore contacts -she didn't.

"It's been awhile, I was glad when you called. I just made up some new ink, ready and waiting for your sexy werewolf flesh."

Derek rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. Tanya never failed to make him feel better despite her shameless flirting. Tanya was about as straight as he was. Which was to say, not at all.

"I couldn't decide on what I wanted to get, but I've finally pinned it down."

"Got a design for me?"

He nodded, pulling a piece of paper from the inside of his leather jacket. It was an intricately designed mandala that his sister Laura had drawn out and given to him before she'd died, a part of a birthday gift while they were living together in New York after the accident. It had been sitting in his nightstand drawer for years and he'd finally taken it out sometime last week.

He wanted it on his shoulder, positioned like a full moon over a large oak tree, the roots extending down past his elbow. The roots were his family, his grounding force, his reminder of who he was and the alpha he was supposed to be. The branches were for his betas. Tanya practically cooed when he explained it to her, handing over the mandala. She kept grinning and petting his arm. It would have been obnoxious from most other people and Derek still wasn't sure why it wasn't from her. He'd asked her once if she'd done a spell to make herself more likable, to which she had only laughed and patted his knee affectionately before starting up her tattoo gun. He still didn't know the answer.

The pain as the needle jabbed into his skin was immediate and intense and Tanya squeezed his leg in comfort. Had he not known her so well, he'd have taken the gesture as insult, his alpha wolf rising up in protest. But the wolfsbane ink fucking _hurt_ going in and he considered Tanya a good enough friend that he mostly just appreciated her concern. It took all of his control to keep from popping his claws and ripping open the seat cushion which he was currently gripping with one hand. He was trying to keep the arm currently being brutalized as relaxed as possible and he was mildly succeeding at it. It was easier to do now than it was when he got his first couple tats done, but it was still hard.

It was just as they were finishing up the outline, Tanya drawing the last few lines of the roots, when Derek heard them. His pack. And they weren't alone. Oh christ, they'd brought... everyone. Scott, Lydia, Allison... Stiles. He resisted the urge to groan.

"Incoming," he said to the tattoo artist. "My betas are on their way and they brought friends. Human friends."

She nodded, wiping away excess ink and admiring her handiwork. "I know, Isaac called in earlier for a group appointment. I have David coming in to help out with it."

"You didn't say anything," Derek said, unable to help the accusing tone in his voice.

She quirked an amused brow at him. "I thought you knew. I also didn't think it was a big deal?"

He huffed. "It's not."

She didn't say anything but Derek could tell she knew he was lying. It had been a pretty weak lie.

The door was pushed open just as Tanya was wrapping up his arm, him trying not to wince at the contact with his still tender flesh. He was glad they hadn't turned up during the tattoo. His betas knew how much the tattoos hurt, they had plenty themselves, but he wasn't keen on Stiles thinking he was some kind of wuss who couldn't handle the pain.

God, he should not care what Stiles thought about him.

He didn't have time to follow that train of thought though because suddenly the small parlor was filled up, Isaac and Erica heading the group, Scott, Lydia, Allison, and Stiles trailing behind. Half of Derek wanted to roll his eyes at how ridiculous they looked, a bunch of teenagers standing in a tattoo parlor fresh out of high school. The other half of him thought it was kind of awesome, these kids so ready to start living their lives. Scott and his friends weren't wolves, but they were their own pack. It was endearing in a way he wished it wasn't.

"Derek!" Isaac exclaimed, seeing his alpha and moving across the parlor to where he was sitting while Tanya calculated how much he owed her.

"Isaac," he said, trying to keep his voice even. Erica was going on and on about how great of an artist Tanya was to the others, Scott and Lydia listening attentively, Allison squished between the two of them. Stiles looked like he was half listening, bouncing his knee and running his hand through his hair every few seconds. Even through the stench of ink and cleaning supplies, Derek could smell the stress coming off of him. There was excitement, too, all of them reeked of it, but Stiles was definitely suffering from a serious case of nerves.

"Brought the newbies in for their first tats!" Isaac proclaimed with a grin.

Derek eyed the group of humans hovering around the desk, chatting and discussing designs with Tanya. "They're _all_ getting something?"

"Nah, not Allison, she can't make up her mind on what she wants so she's going to wait. She might ask David to pierce her tongue for her though when he gets there."

Isaac's grin got a little wider at that and he glanced back to the slim brunette who was currently teasing Scott about something. They had their arms around each other like they always did and as Isaac went back to join them Derek was surprised to see his beta successfully wiggle his way between the two. Whatever was happening there was, well, it was something alright.

He sighed and stood, trying not to wince at the way the bandage rubbed against the new ink. He weaved his way through the group of teens to lean on the front desk. "What's the damage?" he asked, ignoring the others. The only way he was getting through this surprise encounter with the boy who was currently starring in all his fantasies was to pretend he didn't exist. Pay his bill and run. Well, not run, alphas did not _run_ away from things. They walked in a dignified manner.

He was digging through his wallet when the door swung open again and the other tattoo artist, David, came through. He was grinning through several lip rings, his eyes bright like he was genuinely excited to be working late on what must have been his day off. He probably was -David was the kind of person who was excited about everything.

"Whose ready to get inked?" he asked loudly, waving at them all and getting a few laughs.

Derek was handing over a wad of cash when he realized that the anxiety coming off of Stiles had increased. He was also having a whispered argument with Scott that the alpha was pointedly not listening to. Just because he _could _hear everything going on around him in perfect clarity didn't mean that he wanted to. He had gotten pretty good at tuning things out. And since he had been trying to ignore the unfairly attractive drummer anyways...

But it was impossible to ignore someone who had that much stress coming off of them. And he wasn't the only one who had noticed. Erica and Isaac were glancing back and forth between him and each other, Erica biting her lip.

"No, I'll go first, I need to," Stiles finally said, making himself loud enough for the entire parlor to hear.

"Stiles, seriously man, you don't have to-" Scott started to protest but the other boy cut him off.

"Watching everyone else go is just going to make it worse and I'm going to work myself up more, I'd rather just get it over with."

"Why get a tattoo if the pain bothers you that much?" Derek asked, the words escaping his mouth before he could rein them back in. Goddammit.

Stiles turned to look at him, his jaw slack from shock, presumably at the fact that the older man had addressed him. His cheeks coloured a bit as he fumbled with a response.

"Oh, no it's not, uh, I don't have a problem with pain? It's the needles..." He let the sentence trail off and Derek found himself fixated on his mouth, the way his lips moved as he spoke. He gave himself a mental shake.

"Oh."

"Err, yeah." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his feet and then at the wall and then at Scott, his hands shoved in his pants pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Derek had never met anyone who moved so much before in his life and it would be a miracle if he could stay still long enough for Tanya or David to get a needle in him.

"Well, let's see the design you've got," Tanya said, coming around from where she was perched on the desk, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. Stiles pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it over.

Tanya looked it over carefully and then raised her eyes to Stiles, the blue almost flashing in the light. "You're sure about this design?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, one hundred percent, definitely." He shifted again, a shuffling of feet that seemed to be an unconscious movement on his part. Derek wondered what it was. He resented that he cared. He resented that he was still in the shop and not in his Camaro on his way home.

He resented his life really.

And yet, he stayed leaning against the front desk, watching as Stiles settled himself into the chair he himself had just vacated, while Tanya made up the stencil for his tattoo. He watched as Stiles indicated his right shoulder, his foot tapping restlessly.

When Tanya finally pulled the stencil paper away Derek could finally see what it was, the temporary purple ink forming a bouquet of flowers, the name "Claudia" emblazoned on a banner over it. He understood why Tanya had hesitated, probably afraid that Claudia was some girl he liked. Stiles wasn't that stupid though (Derek wasn't about to analyze why he thought that seeing as he barely knew the kid) and he was guessing she was a family member of some sort, possibly someone who had passed away.

He felt a ball of emotions roll through his stomach, threatening to rise up, and he clamped them back down, gritting his teeth. He was absolutely not going to think about it.

It didn't matter anyways, a few seconds later he was distracted by the fresh wave of anxiety that Stiles put off the second that the gun started buzzing.

"Scott," he croaked, looking desperately at his friend who was across the room in a second, clutching his hand. There was no embarrassment between the two, no shame in Stiles being petrified.

"I think," Stiles started, looking between Scott and Tanya who was waiting patiently, "you might need to hold me down."

Scott nodded, gripping his shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly. "Deep breaths man."

"I'm going to need you to stay really still," Tanya said, gripping his arm. "Just relax, and don't look, maybe squeeze someone's hand." Her voice was calm, soothing, and Derek wondered if she was working some kind of witchy magic. He wasn't really sure how that worked, but he could hear Stiles heartbeat slow a little bit. Not much though.

Stiles grabbed hold of Scott's hand and then Tanya was putting needle to flesh and Derek could suddenly hear the kid's heart hammering like a drum, unbelievably loud in his ear. Erica and Isaac's both shifted like they wanted to do something but hung back.

Because apparently Derek was the one who was going to do something about it.

He was next to Stiles before he knew it, holding out his hand for him to take. He had been gripping Scott's so tightly that Derek was sure he was going to break one of the poor kid's fingers.

Stiles looked up at him, eyes wide and confused.

"Take my hand and squeeze before you end up sending poor Scott to the hospital. My hand can take the abuse."

He hesitated for a moment before letting go of Scott and grabbed Derek's proffered hand. His skin was warm and sweaty but the contact sent a jolt through the werewolf's system. There shouldn't be anything attractive about an eighteen year old sweating nervously and crushing your fingers and... swearing rather colourfully.

"Sorry," he gasped, biting his lip so hard Derek thought it might start to bleed.

Tanya grinned. "You don't have to apologize to me, I've heard worse. Get it out."

The only response he gave was a drawn out "fuuuuuck" as he gripped Derek's hand even tighter.

Derek didn't say anything, tried to not even look at Stiles, sweating and swearing. He wasn't even sure why he was doing this. It was a serious fucking struggle not to let his mind get carried away _by what else _might illicit this kind of reaction from Stiles.

_Think of England, think of baseball,_ he told himself. _Don't think about Stiles' ass in the air, swearing and mewling while you spread him open with your fingers. Don't._

The tattoo took awhile to get through, despite only being an outline. Derek was pretty sure the kid would pass out if he'd gotten the colouring done too.

He was glad when it was over and the gun finally turned off, Stiles shaking a bit but grinning like a maniac, clearly pleased to have lived through his first tattoo experience. Derek took his hand back, flexing it and trying to get his blood to circulate again. The kid had very nearly dislocated one of his fingers, his grip stronger than Derek had expected.

"Sorry about your hand man, but uh, I appreciate it," Stiles said, looking up at him with those stupid honey brown eyes, running his fingers through his already thoroughly mussed hair. Derek could smell the faint scent of arousal coming off of him despite the pain of his new tattoo and the fact that he had just spent the better part of an hour under some serious stress. It was not helping with the mental images that were already playing like a movie in the werewolf's head.

"Don't worry about it," he said, his voice more gruff than he meant it to be as he stepped away from the chair.

His friends swarmed him, eager to see the new ink and tease him. Derek took the opportunity to slip from the shop, the feel of Stiles' hand in his own seared into his brain.

* * *

So yeah, there you go, kind of long, and hopefully it won't take me so long to get the next chapter up. Leave reviews and pester me about it and it will probably get done faster because I will feel terrible about making you guys wait.


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